


when there's lovin' in the air (ahh)

by archekoeln



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: (or something like that!!), (we are ignoring the body in the basement in this fic because), F/M, Feelings Realization, Misunderstandings, POV Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:01:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26068378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archekoeln/pseuds/archekoeln
Summary: “Why the he— why did you tell Madame Tsurugi that we were dating? Since when did that happen?”Well, her question is related to the meeting after all.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth & Nathalie Sancoeur, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Nathalie Sancoeur, Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth/Nathalie Sancoeur
Comments: 30
Kudos: 93





	1. don't fight it, just keep breathing

**Author's Note:**

> i'm surprised i wrote something gabenath (that isn't angst) when i've been solely thinking about either work or animal crossing for the last few weeks. 
> 
> unbeta'd! this was sort of inspired by a dialogue prompt from https://givethispromptatry.tumblr.com/! 
> 
> the fic and chapter titles is/will be from 'my type' by saint motel.

“Sir?” Nathalie’s voice rings through the din of silence in the atelier. Between both of them, working is always a peaceful co-existence. The quiet of the home office always calmed him during the day, devoid of the noise and the people that asked for his attention. Nathalie’s presence was a godsend in that regard, whenever he found himself stepping into their corporate offices.

Right now was no different, although Gabriel could sense something imminent brewing. A premonition.

“Yes? What is it, Nathalie?” 

“I apologize but, I just have to know—” And here, Gabriel's attention is taken by the way Nathalie pauses. It is something that only happens a handful of times, and all those are when stress and her random bouts of sickness have gotten the best of her. Not that she’s used the Peacock for so long now to warrant any sort of relapse to the days when she could neither lift her head up nor stand too long without an arm to lean on.

It’s always his, of course. There would be no one else she could depend on. But those events are few and far between now, and while he is glad that she is steadily getting better, it would be a lie to say that he doesn’t miss the way she melts against him.

His fingers have stopped tapping onto his design table, waiting for Nathalie to continue. The thought that she was going to ask about tomorrow's scheduled meeting with the Tsurugi matriarch all but flies away, as he takes in the expression on her face.

She looks apprehensive, as though anxiety has gripped her usual self, holding it hostage until she spoke. He’s reminded of the days when Nathalie was his newly minted (executive) assistant, going through his demands without the cool confidence time and experience gave her.

Nathalie breathes in; as if steeling herself.

And then—

“Why the _he—_ why did you tell Madame Tsurugi that we were dating? Since when did that happen?”

Well, her question _is_ related to the meeting after all.

A beat passes. While Nathalie patiently waits for him to answer, Gabriel is silently considering the cowards way out— that is, dismissing Nathalie’s very much valid question with his usual brand of remote aloofness. 

He’s done it many times before, for various reasons not related to both her and Adrien.

Instead of answering, he coughs once. Nathalie's eyebrow shoots up, not unlike the times when she questions his, otherwise, more insane sounding plans. He has yet to speak, tongue-tied at the thought of admitting something as simple as his reason for saying that _totally incorrect notion_ to one of his associates. 

Suddenly, that moment when he’d spoken to Tomoe Tsurugi felt like… he doesn’t know what to call it.

Nathalie is still waiting for his answer. He can feel her impatience through his miraculous, bleeding out of the stony facade she is resolutely holding in place. Gabriel squares his shoulders and tenses. He lifts his chin a bit higher (and at this, Nathalie's brows furrow, confused) and he grits his teeth, lips poised in a taut line. 

“She must be mistaken,” he bites out, a little too harsh than usual. Nathalie blinks at his tone, and instead of stopping, Gabriel keeps on talking. The need to explain himself is startlingly _strong._ “She was being presumptuous in assuming our relationship, and to stop her, I had to admit that obvious farce— you understand, to get her off my back.”

Nathalie blinks again.

“That's all and well,” she finally says. Gabriel doesn't enjoy how she looks as though she's unsure of her next words. The whole conversation is riddled with a tense sort of aura between them. Even early in the day, despite whatever calm he might have felt in her presence, in the atelier, there was a sort of humming beneath his skin, emotions that Nathalie squashed at every opportunity. 

_This is, this is probably why._

He wonders when he first started to _care_ how she reacted to him. He also wonders when he first started to care about her in general.

In a sense. As his employee, well, as his friend.

“But,” Nathalie’s voice breaks through his musings and he looks on as she gestures to the window. “That doesn’t explain _why_ the press is camped outside the manor, asking for clarification on whatever you’ve told Madame Tsurugi,” she pauses for a moment, continuing after a beat. “Or, I guess that _does_ explain it. The paparazzi must have heard when you spoke to her.”

Gabriel’s expression pales as he quickly swipes at his screen. While he doesn’t usually check his security cameras, opting for Nathalie to do it in his stead, he still has access to every single one. 

Doing so reveals that, _yes,_ the press _is_ camped out their front gate, and _yes,_ they are willing to wait with how there are tents set up across the road. He doesn’t bother the shrewd voice in his head considering it _theirs_ instead of _his_. 

This is the second time he’s seen that sort of dedication from the press, regarding anything about his private life.

(The first would have been the news about Emilie’s disappearance, all those years ago.)

Besides that, why the road is closed is a question he will be ringing Mayor Bourgeois about but _for now,_ there are other concerns he should focus on. 

“Is Adrien home?” Nathalie looks at the tablet in her hands. He assumes that she’s checking his son’s schedule.

“Not yet. Grenier is picking him up from school as we speak.”

Gabriel takes a deep breath. At least. “Arrange for him to stay somewhere else until these vultures cool off.”

“With who? The Tsurugis?” Nathalie asks though the sort of twinkle in her eyes clue Gabriel in that it’s rhetorical more than anything. Gabriel glares at her for it, though it is half-hearted in part of how she seems to be at ease now. She swallows, surprised, and then looks away again.

“No. She might infect him with her ideas,” he says. “And I don’t want him thinking about—”

Gabriel’s phone suddenly springs to life, beeping insistently in the background. It takes him a grand total of three seconds to realize that it’s _his_ and not Nathalie’s because she’s busy staring at the phone on his table. And then it takes them about seven seconds to actually reach for it, with Nathalie getting to and answering the blasted thing.

Nathalie’s eyes widen before she puts it on speaker, and from it, Gabriel can hear his son. The excitement is palpable even through the phone call. Something is churning in his gut at that.

 _“Father!”_ The call is devoid of the clear chirping of his friends, which tells him that he’s already in the car. _“I didn’t know you and Nathalie are together now! Congratulations!”_

Maybe the surprise in Adrien’s words is what causes Nathalie to almost drop the phone. It fumbles in her grip but ultimately, she is able to catch it in time. Maybe it’s how Gabriel isn’t looking at her, fearful of her reaction. Maybe it’s the approval that laced Adrien’s tone, obvious even through the static and the distance. 

Maybe it was a lot of things that Gabriel wouldn’t be able to feel had he not worn the miraculous underneath his ascot.

Gabriel is speechless. Of all the times for Adrien to call— and to offer him his congratulations for an event that never happened— 

Disappointment rumbles deep in his belly. Despite the non-reaction from him, however, Adrien adds, _“The Gorilla told me about the press. Maybe I can stay by Chloe’s for a while?”_

It feels as though he’s used to Gabriel simply listening when he calls because he continues on, talking about how Mm. Tsurugi’s daughter, Kagami, called him about the mountain of paparazzi already camped out the manor, just as Chloe Bourgeois offered her abode to shelter him for the day. Really, the words don’t register as Adrien goes on and on and on— 

Then again, it’s not as though Adrien calls a whole lot. Considering that they’ve only slowly started to patch things between them, however, makes Gabriel feel like he ought to be trying _harder_ now, more than ever.

 _“—you should ask Nathalie to join us for dinner! Maybe tomorrow? When I get back. And you can surprise me with the news! I’ll even act the part— Father?”_

Gabriel only registers that Adrien has stopped rambling, though he was at a loss at how long he’s kept quiet.

_“Father, are you still there?”_

Nathalie watches as he takes a deep breath. Or, he thinks she does. She has yet to look him in the eye after Adrien’s words earlier. Nathalie’s cheeks are blooming a pale shade of pink.

He thinks she’s glowing. 

Wait, what.

“Yes, Adrien. I’m still here.”

_“Why do you sound so far? Oh! Is Nathalie there too?”_

“Of course she’d be here Adrien,” Gabriel says, unimpressed. Sometimes his son forgot that Nathalie was still his employee, despite everything. “We _are_ working right now.”

 _“Oh! Sorry for bothering you father,”_ Adrien apologizes. He sounds far too cheerful to be sorry for calling them in the middle of a workday, although they _have_ been distracted, what with the paparazzi and the news apparently wanting to latch onto this lie he dug himself and now—

 _“Nathalie!”_ Adrien calls the woman in question, who doesn’t even get the privilege of answering before he completely murders her with his words. Or, Gabriel assumes so, given how Nathalie isn’t given the chance to deny anything. _“Congratulations! I told you he feels the same!”_

Wait. 

WHAT.

_“I’ll see you both tomorrow!”_

The call ends there. 

The seconds that pass after that are… stifling. Not even that. It’s _awkward._ The air feels like it could suffocate both of them. Gabriel can feel Nathalie’s emotions going a mile a minute, his chest throbbing in tandem with the Butterfly still pinned on him. Her face has gone from a faint pink to bright red, almost similar in hue to the streak on her hair. 

Nathalie sputters, her reaction delayed as it were. Gabriel doesn’t stir. Adrien’s words are all he can think about. His heart is beating against his ribs, too loudly for his own good. He can feel sweat dripping down his spine, unable to reconcile the fact that _Nathalie feels like that for him, how was he blind with a miraculous that can sense emotions—_

“I, I apologize,” she says. The shift from _too much emotion_ to _nothing at all_ registers clearly against the Butterfly. The embarrassment that was pouring out of Nathalie in waves, continuously hitting him with how blatantly prevalent they are, have just as abruptly stopped. Or maybe she corked it, tightly pushing a lid down to stop him from feeling everything she would rather keep to herself.

She knew what the Butterfly can do, after all.

And she was so good at that, wasn’t she? Compartmentalizing her emotions?

“Sir, do you want me to call him back? Staying with the Bourgeois might be a good idea for now.”

Surprisingly, she doesn’t mention the very blatant elephant in the room. The very, very large elephant in the room, encompassing the high ceiling of the atelier. It was probably a garishly colored elephant, blinking neon purple and blue and green and all the colors that would make him want to throw himself off the Seine. 

Maybe not acknowledging it will invalidate Adrien’s words. 

He knows that Nathalie is trying so hard to recompose herself in the face of that embarrassing… well, Gabriel didn’t know if he could call it a confession. Was it a confession? It had to be. It couldn’t be anything _other_ than a confession.

It would do him good to put that aside for now. He nods at her suggestion, hoping to put back some semblance of... whatever they had before Adrien's phone call. “That would be fine. You can just text him.” It’s not as though Adrien needs permission, having already decided earlier.

Relief washes over Nathalie’s whole posture. Maybe if he doesn’t point it out, she will be inclined to think that he cares little about Adrien’s slip-up. Something about that nags at him differently, and it’s that ugly feeling that makes him speak up.

“Nathalie,” he mutters. Fear grips her for a beat as she turns towards him. For some reason, Gabriel dislikes the way she recoils at the sound of her name, _from him._

“I will not take it against you, whatever Adrien said in that call. Just know that it doesn’t bother me at all,” he says. Whatever he meant, it seemed as though Nathalie finds it surprising. “Tomorrow, schedule that dinner with Adrien. You are to join us, of course. And,” he pauses, likely for dramatic effect; mostly just to see the confusion in her eyes. “I would like to talk to him before dinner too. Cancel anything that coincides with it.”

Nathalie exhales, fear slowly ebbing. 

“O-Of course.” She taps into her tablet for a few seconds, speaking up once she’d done as he asked. “If you’ll excuse me, sir.”

He watches her all the way towards the door, at the stiffness of her stride (it bothers him, quite frankly), and then as she slowly closes the door in her wake. Gabriel makes a mental note to put into writing all his thoughts on this... matter before his talk with Adrien tomorrow.

Maybe by then, hopefully, he’ll have sorted it all out.


	2. i can't help myself but stare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you’ll excuse me, sir. I’ll be going n—”
> 
> “No,” Gabriel interrupts, already rising from his seat on the couch.
> 
> Nathalie's features twist with astonishment. Her mouth curves into a frown and it takes Gabriel's slow walk towards her for her to snap out of it, returning to the nonchalance she is known for. 
> 
> “Sir?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two things. 1) we know nathalie living in the agreste manor is canon from the ny special but listen; and 2) this is not the direction this was supposed to go but im tired so here,

At exactly five o’clock (and not a second later), Gabriel feels Nathalie silently staring at him, prompting him to look back at her. There is a slight glare that she levels at him, gone the next second, _likely_ because of the akuma he had _almost_ released earlier that day; but had not, for reasons he could not readily disclose to her.

Now, the supposed birth of that akuma was due in part of the displeasure radiating from the people outside. It was only through sheer will (and at Nathalie’s insistence) that he hadn’t just ripped off his ascot to transform in the atelier, just so he could have the power to drive them all away. Of course, the gist of it was that he had to be firm with her when she also insisted that he not go _anyway._

In the end, he does as she says and tries to ignore everything, focusing on his work until Nathalie’s alarm beeps softly in the background.

Her desktop is already turned off and most everything on her desk is stored away. A lone notebook remained, where her to-do list is scrawled in with her thin, compact handwriting. He knows that she usually jots down anything she needs to accomplish for the next day, and writing it makes her remember most things. 

Though he wouldn’t be surprised if she also has an email sent to herself, just to have a back-up.

They share eye contact with each other, if only briefly. He is the first one to look away, for whatever reason that he wouldn’t admit. Apart from Nathalie’s embarrassment from earlier, and apart from her fizzing irritation, it seemed as though she’d gotten back her bearings. 

Her professionalism was commendable, to say the least. 

His? Not as much.

Straining _not_ to use the Butterfly on her after she’d come back from her quick exit was a test in and of itself. He tries not to think about it, but, to be fair to him, he is curious about whatever conversation topic between Adrien and Nathalie had resulted in his son blurting out… _that_.

It was definitely a confession. He'd be remiss to even consider it anything _other_ than one.

Adrien’s voice lingered in the air far longer than he anticipated, like a thickening fog hellbent on swallowing him whole. He would be hard pressed to ignore how it ultimately changes the way he looks (is looking? will look?) at Nathalie. It doesn’t _bother_ him, per se, but it’s hard _not_ to think about a _confession_ hanging above his head, from the one person who had been able to get through all the walls he’d erected around himself after Emilie’s death.

 _No. Not death. Disappearance. She’s still alive._ But even then, that was a technicality in and of itself.

Of course, whatever they’d talked about that he wasn’t privy to— well, he certainly couldn’t blame Nathalie from keeping it _from_ him. He hadn’t the courage to tell _her_ about Adrien’s words to him on the first anniversary of Emilie’s disappearance. 

He’s reminded about the hostility and disappointment that filled him that day, at the implication of Adrien’s bittersweet smile and the words he told his father in absolute confidence.

_“If she can make you happy again, then...”_

_“I told you he feels the same!”_

Nathalie clears her throat to get his attention, nodding towards the direction of the door. That effectively pulls him away from his thoughts, Adrien’s voice dying down in his head as he shifts to look at his assistant.

“If you’ll excuse me, sir. I’ll be going n—”

“No,” Gabriel interrupts, already rising from his seat on the couch.

Nathalie's features twist with astonishment. Her mouth curves into a frown and it takes Gabriel's slow walk towards her for her to snap out of it, returning to the nonchalance she is known for. 

“Sir?”

“Do you really want to go out there?” He gestures vaguely in the air, to the outside where they both know stand a street full of people, stubbornly waiting for one or the other (or both, if they were lucky enough) to emerge. The press has been camping for more than a few hours now and it was likely to continue until the next day. “They'll eat you alive if you take one step out of that gate.”

“Be that as it may,” Nathalie starts, slinging her purse over her shoulder while glancing at the windows. The curtains are drawn closed but they can tell that the early sunset is already crossing the horizon. 

Normally, the curtains would be open (also at Nathalie’s insistence), but after finding out that the press planned on climbing the walls of his home through the subtle security cameras poised outside, his suggestion to close them garnered no objections from his assistant.

“I _still_ need to get home. The press will talk if I don’t.” 

“They will also talk if you do. They will talk _regardless,_ ” he snaps, standing his ground. It helps that he is a head taller than her and that she has to look up at him in order to assert herself. They have been in this sort of position before, and many times at that, with most of their conversations circling around how to handle either his son, his company, or his extracurriculars.

“Be that as it may,” she repeats, voice pinched, her grip on the strap of her purse tightening. He notices how she’s tense in his presence and the urge to step away blooms in his gut. He does, eventually, as she continues, “I’d rather they already get it out of their system by asking me _now_ than finding out what they’ll write for tomorrow.” 

Gabriel hums at her words, brows furrowed. Clearly, he knows that Nathalie is right. The press _will_ undoubtedly take an overnight stay of hers as proof of his… statement. It will be enough to goad them all to publishing headlines the very next day, so more of the public can read how he has moved on from Emilie. 

(The thought surprisingly stings less than his talk with M. Tsurugi, which he refuses to let simmer in his head. Although he isn’t as active as Hawkmoth nowadays, it still saddens him that Emilie has remained in her cryogenic chamber, asleep and unaware of the world.)

The internet is already rife with articles about his conversation with Mm. Tsurugi, though they are mostly speculation about the status of his relationship with his _assistant._ The last thing they needed was a confirmation and Gabriel knows that, by allowing Nathalie to stay in the manor, that will be enough.

But, despite any overwhelming _common sense_ that he may gain from standing in close proximity to Nathalie, it still doesn’t make him budge.

“At least you will not be bombarded inside the manor, compared to outside,” he says stubbornly. He squeezes his hands behind his back, feels all the knuckles of his fist. “Grenier isn’t even here to accompany you home—” 

“He’s only a block away,” Nathalie mutters petulantly, loud enough for him to catch. 

“—in any case,” he continues, lips pursed. “I’d rather not have him trample over any of the press. An article about my, _our,_ presumed relationship is one thing. Getting sued by the press is an entirely different matter.”

Nathalie snorts. 

“As if you care enough about them to take care of that and not leave it for Legal to solve,” she says, still using that barely raised voice that is, ever so slowly, starting to grate him. Gabriel squints at her, flummoxed at how Nathalie seems to want to act like a child. He’s trying to _protect_ her from the rabid mass of people who’ve decided that whatever they’d heard him say was fact. Or close to a fact. Or trying to prove it as fact.

It’s a lie of course. The best thing they should really do is ignore the press and move forward. And moving forward meant that she _should_ go home and not spend another second standing in front of him, arguing her case as he adamantly refuses to listen to reasonable objections for more than two seconds.

“Nathalie—” 

“I could go out the back way,” she goes on, ignoring him whether on purpose or not, mumbling under her breath. “Fatima and Emmanuel were able to get out unharmed—”

“They aren’t the ones the press is hoping to catch,” he quips. 

Nathalie shakes her head. Her impeccably styled hair is already loose from the annoyance. “They _work_ here. People are bound to ask them questions too,” she argues back.

His lips tighten with distaste. “What is wrong with you staying the night?” The tone of his voice bellies his displeasure and that alone keeps Nathalie from answering. 

“After all, this isn’t the first time we’ve brought up the topic of you staying in the manor,” he continues, to which she looks away because they both know it’s true. There are nights when Nathalie stays at the manor when work ends up taking longer than normal, with one of the guest bedrooms permanently loaned to her. He knows that she has used it for long enough that half of her wardrobe is already in the closet. She even keeps memorabilia from previous events there, instead of her actual apartment. He has asked her, at least once, why she doesn’t take them home and her answer is always something along the size of her apartment and the sheer volume of the items she owns, all stocked in her room.

Which is a blatant lie, considering he does know that the complex housing her is on the better side of the city.

Nathalie sighs. 

“That is precisely _why_ I should go home,” she mutters, shaking her head. “Sir, with all due respect, I would rather brave the questions outside _than_ stay here for the night. It’s nothing against you or your plan, but if I hide here, then there will be cause for them to speculate even further. And I do know for a fact that you know this, or are you playing dumb right now to continue to get your way?” 

He doesn’t answer. It’s obvious enough that she doesn’t need to wait for one.

“I’m surprised your mentor and your colleagues haven’t been ringing you since the news erupted,” Nathalie adds, glancing at his phone. 

The truth of the matter is the fact that it _has_ been beeping with notifications, non-stop, since Nathalie left. Gabriel had the foresight to shut off notifications so she wouldn’t hear them and ask. The ignored calls from Audrey will bite him later but it was better not to be at the receiving end of her screeching.

She _has_ hinted something in the past between Nathalie and him, and Gabriel knows that delaying the inevitable conversation between them, which will be filled with her telling him that she _was absolutely correct, you heathen, you idiot—_ well, he would rather _not._

His reaction back when she had brought up the topic had been much the same as when Adrien had asked him in front of his wife’s statue, although subdued more so than usual. Shouting at Audrey Bourgeois would only get him to lose all of her support on his riskier releases and Gabriel knows for a fact that Audrey keeps his business afloat with her words and her presence alone.

In being reminded of his mentor, Gabriel never notices that Nathalie is now reading through his phone— _how_ she even swiped it from his person, he will never guess. The heavy sigh that she releases rings louder than the curiosity he has for her methods.

“So she _did_ send you a message. Well, messages,” Nathalie says and Gabriel merely nods, watching her peruse through his phone. It’s too late to take it from her at this point. “I’d think you’d have answered her after the first ten missed calls. The ringtone you set for her is abysmally long that you wouldn’t have let it finish ringing the first time.”

“I didn’t,” he deadpans, hand stretched towards her. Nathalie walks forward, depositing the phone on his open palm. “I cut her off the first three seconds and put it on silent.”

“At least none of these messages are derogatory against _you._ Maybe she won’t drop the brand off the face of the Earth,” she comments, taking a step back.

“I hope you aren’t siding with her for pointing you as the villain in this,” Gabriel comments sardonically, eyeing her as he pockets his phone.

“Well,” Nathalie shrugs. She looks away and he has the distinct impression that she is trying not to laugh at herself. Or at him. Or even at Audrey; who, just through her multitude of messages, has implied his relationship with his assistant as purely _Nathalie’s_ fault as if Gabriel is innocent in everything that led up to that point.

He won’t stand for that, not in a million years.

“It is entirely my fault that we are in this mess, so let me do something to clear it up,” Gabriel finally says.

Nathalie inhales deeply. The mirth is gone from her eyes, and the little smile on her face fades away. She asks, “That would mean letting me go home then?”

“That would mean letting you _stay_ here. Indefinitely,” he answers. She shakes her head at him and it’s all Gabriel can do not to lash out at her with how uncooperative she’s being. 

“Sir, again, I would like to tell you that _that_ is a bad idea. I know you’re full of them but I just want you to know that what you’re doing will trump everything else you’ve done,” she says, frustration seeping through her tone. 

Even he is tired of trying to persuade Nathalie, but if that would mean feeding her to the wolves, then he would rather stand his ground until the sun rises. 

“I understand where you’re coming from, Nathalie,” he implores. At that, Nathalie’s brow raises. “But believe me, if there is any other _way_ this could end—”

“Letting me go home,” she quips unhelpfully. 

Gabriel frowns, ignoring her.

“—that wouldn’t further incriminate you into the lie I had told Madame Tsurugi—”

“As though I am already not incriminated _enough_ by staying here,” Nathalie heatedly replies.

“As though _I care about what Adrien had said_ in his phone call earlier, to send you to an early grave,” Gabriel shoots back.

Nathalie sputters, reminded of that moment. It comes out of nowhere and it’s a testament to Gabriel’s own shocked face that he hadn’t meant to say it in the first place. 

Even so, he continues. “I am not the one who will disappoint my son,” he says, raising his chin at her. A challenge that Nathalie sees through the moment he mentions Adrien. “He’s expecting you to stay, at least until tomorrow evening.”

“You would use your own son like this?” Nathalie asks, outraged, her cheeks tinted a bright, obvious pink.

Gabriel doesn’t look the least apologetic, but the curve of his mouth is a little too thin to gain any enjoyment from her shock. “I’ve learned to use every advantage. Better to break it to him first before anyone. It’s the least we can do, to ruin what he thinks is good news,” he says. 

He can see the deep breaths that Nathalie takes and, for that, he feels almost sorry for bringing up Adrien (and, inadvertently, the phone call). He never really does think things through, but if that is what it takes for her to keep still, to _listen_ to him, to agree, then he would take her annoyance wholeheartedly.

“I suppose if you’re really that desperate— honestly,” Nathalie huffs, irked. “Using Adrien, how—” 

“Villainous?” Gabriel smirks, knowingly hinting at the other roles they play. It is usually an inside joke between them (and she _had_ smiled earlier, relating herself as one), but this time it doesn’t get a smile out of Nathalie like he hoped it would.

“I really don’t have much of a choice then,” she says instead, finally, through gritted teeth. Her grip on her purse tightens. Gabriel frowns at her statement but is unable to counter it, as Nathalie looks away. “I’ll go up to my room then, since we aren’t working anymore.”

He sighs. She's not _just_ annoyed at him, that much is obvious, but he’ll take it either way.

There are only a handful of times that Nathalie has been angry enough at him that it shows on her face, or through her skin. 

“Of course. Don’t let me keep you.”

“Thank you, sir,” she bites out before leaving him alone in his office, the door closing with a resounding click.

* * *

Gabriel releases the breath he has been holding. Nathalie’s emotions flared for a half-second before she left. He feels everything through the miraculous and the sudden vitriol dripping from every square inch of Nathalie’s body was a surprise he was not at all expecting to get.

Thankfully, he had the foresight to keep Duusu away from her. There was no telling what she would have done had she felt _his_ fear of her anger _at_ him.

Which is silly. He is _her_ boss. If anything, it should be Nathalie worrying over her slight against him.

Not that he can think like that. _Not that he has ever thought like that._ Not when they are more than boss and subordinate now.

“Nooroo,” he calls out.

The kwami flits into his peripheral, having hidden between the portraits of his son. He watches as Nooroo hovers in front of him, expression somber and head bowed in reverent silence.

“Tell me what I did wrong,” he orders. 

Nooroo’s eyes widen and he flutters in the air. He rubs his little… hands? paws? together, and tries not to look into Gabriel’s eyes. His nervousness is palpable, and through the Butterfly, Gabriel can sense the distress of his kwami.

At the same time, Gabriel knows his patience is wearing thin and that Nooroo can feel it, being much more empathic than him. “Well? I’m waiting,” he prods, hands behind his back.

Nooroo swallows. There is always a little hint of fear whenever he _has_ to interact with his master. But then, Gabriel gives him no chance to retreat now that he’d been called. The past few weeks have been a reprieve for the bound god, so the return of a scowling Gabriel makes him act meeker than usual.

But still, orders are orders, and Nooroo starts to speak.

“Uhm, well master, I suppose it’s how you used Adrien to force her to stay,” Nooroo says, fiddling with his… he has no fingers, still unable to look at Gabriel. “She would have been fine if you let her go. This will die down and yet you still insisted. Using Adrien so you can leave her no choice in the matter is—”

Gabriel holds up a hand to stop Nooroo. He doesn’t need to hear the rest. The urge to disagree with his kwami is still settling in his stomach. Nooroo only meant to explain as ordered and he did, but hearing it from someone else makes him rethink the conversation with Nathalie earlier.

Not that they went anywhere with it. And not that anything will be different if he had realized.

The lights turn on above him and he’s bathed underneath the glare of white in the room. Emilie’s portrait seems to watch him as he approaches. 

“Nooroo,” he says. 

The kwami lingers a little ways behind him, already knowing Gabriel’s intention. He slips into the brooch as Gabriel traces his fingers over Emilie’s likeness. Before long, the lift brings him to his lair where Hawkmoth will stand, minutes later, searching Paris for a person fit for his akuma. 

Nathalie isn’t there to stop him and, well, his irritation at the press is still pulsing beneath his skin.

“This is as good a time as any,” he mutters, cupping a white butterfly between his gloves hands. In his thoughts, he can faintly hear someone (likely Nooroo, but there was also the faint hint of Nathalie and Adrien’s voices) saying, _it isn’t._

Hawkmoth ignores the prodding, (Nooroo, or Nathalie, or Adrien, or not), focusing on any other emotion that is outside of his home.

When his mark accepts his proposition, he is reminded of tomorrow and what he still needs to do to prepare for it.

Well—

He’ll get started on that list later.


	3. double check for double meanings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Have some coffee," he offers, because there is little else he can do or say as she fumbles around, embarrassed at being caught in her sleepwear. For her sake, Gabriel looks away as Nathalie tightens the sash of her robe. It's moot, really, because underneath it is pajamas and it isn't as thought that's condemning but if it will make her feel at ease, then he will let her have a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: looks at what i've planned for this chapter  
> also me: looks at what i've written on this chapter  
> thirdly, me: what if i don't write what i planned to and instead project on these two again  
> me, again: sighs  
> finally, me: changes chapter numbers

His champion hasn’t even done  _ anything  _ yet (apart from an introduction and ignorantly confronting the heroes) when Hawkmoth hastily recalls the akuma back to his side. It flits around his gloved hand, an unassuming white with its dark energy having been siphoned away. A wave of his hand sends it back to its siblings and they all settle by his feet as he remains still and unmoving.

In his mind's eye, he sees Ladybug and Chat Noir, mouths open wide in shock, watching as his akuma flies away. He's surprised they don’t follow it, or rather, that they let it go. 

But then again, taking care of the victim is their first priority after defeating his champions. He expects nothing less from two children who touted their version of justice for all.

_ “Except for those who need it,”  _ he thinks bitterly, releasing a heavy exhale as his transformation melts and Gabriel appears in his place. Nooroo slips out of the brooch and hovers closely, silently, watching his master stand at attention. The darkened skies of Paris shroud the city from another attempt at his innocuous pastime, thinking it too late for a decent akuma to arise.

Well, other than the one had let go.

When Gabriel makes no move to address his kwami, Nooroo takes the silence as a dismissal and heads towards a plate of clementines that Nathalie often leaves in the lair, nibbling on one that had been previously peeled. Gabriel continued to ignore him, keenly aware that his kwami has less than pleasant thoughts for him at the moment. 

In retrospect, Nooroo usually does have such thoughts for his master but they are kept tightly under lock and key. Owing to the fact that he is effectively a prisoner, there is never a need to verbalize them in the event that Gabriel acts harshly in retaliation. Then again, Nooroo has been, most likely, in a state of absolute confusion concerning Gabriel’s motives these past weeks. The few appearances from Hawkmoth meant that Nooroo (and his powers) isn’t as thoroughly used as he usually would be.

Maybe Nooroo thinks it a reprieve. 

Gabriel has never felt the need to ask.

_ Maybe he should. _

He doesn’t dare move as Nooroo continues his feast. In fact, he stays rooted in place, in front of the circular window overlooking Paris, watching the lazy haze of clouds passing like snails on the pavement. In the back of his mind, he can only replay the moment Nathalie stormed out of the atelier, with even the quiet click of her heels deafening in the silence that (followed) it.

“She is still furious,” Nooroo meekly says. The earlier conversation, however one-sided it had been between master and kwami, must’ve fueled his prompt disclosure of Nathalie’s current state. Gabriel chances a glance at Nooroo and sees the kwami floating near his shoulder now, clementines devoured and plate emptied. 

“I know,” Gabriel can only reply, waiting for the irritation of his kwami speaking up to flare in his chest. It never comes. There really is little he can say when he knows that Nathalie is stewing in her muted anger, in the confines of her room, and that Nooroo can likely feel it all the way, even with the thick walls of the manor.

Whether bravery or foolishness, Nooroo continues on, saying, “What will you do now, Master?” 

That  _ is _ the question, isn’t it?

Gabriel lifts his head to stare at the open window once more. Nooroo holds his head down as he all but vanishes into the miraculous.

“I will go back to the atelier. There’s work to be done,” he says, knowing how his kwami hears his words though will not answer back.

* * *

_ Work, _ as he is loathed to admit, is the act of staring at his screen, drawing paltry lines on a new canvas with the inefficiency of a distracted man. 

Which, granted, what he currently is.

Gabriel swipes left, exiting the program, and then clicks on a nondescript icon, opening the security cameras to check on his unwanted guests. Sure enough, the press is  _ still _ outside,  _ still _ in a frenzy, though the tired lines drawn on their faces are obvious enough even through the dark of the night and the screen of his computer. 

Come tomorrow, they will all be gone. 

At the very least, there are fewer people now than when the news first erupted, so that was a positive for him to consider.

If there was anything positive about this issue, to begin with.

Nathalie is likely asleep by now, or hopefully, she is, that he doesn't consider barging into her room in an effort to apologize for his earlier mistake. He can admit (only now, when it may not matter as much) that effectively forcing her into staying was not the best way to lay down his concern, however much he thinks it was warranted.

Instead, he will mull over his actions, staring at another newly opened and yet despairingly empty canvas.

The thought of  _ ‘Adrien will be home soon’ _ flashes across Gabriel’s mind, just as he decides to lift his chin towards the windows. Even when drawn closed, the first stirrings of sunlight peek through the curtains, and it bemuses him slightly to realize that he has spent all night staring at nothing at all.

He is unusually calm about it when he  _ should be _ irritated that neither work nor sleep could help his mind settle, but that might be because all thoughts have only centered on the meager list of things he will tell Adrien once they finally find the time to talk. 

(Not that he has even worked or slept but regardless.)

The list he projects in his head isn’t even exhaustive of  _ everything _ he wishes to tell his son but addressing the current news is his priority for now. He writes them down anyway, even irrational as he thinks they are, saving the document before he forgets to.

Again, he attempts to get, at least, a sketch going, disregarding the thoughts that continued to buzz in his head like insistent bees. His fingers are already poised on the screen once more, waiting for an idea (anything, really, at this point) and hoping to distract himself from any more impending thoughts about Nathalie's still pulsing anger and Adrien's earnest acceptance of what appeared to be his father's romantic prospects.

But, as it were earlier, nothing comes to mind. Everything that he thinks of that he could use evaporates as his mind goes blank and back to the sharp clicking of Nathalie’s heels as she exited the room, or to the excitement that echoed from Adrien’s voice when they spoke on the phone. He can even imagine his son’s expression— wide-eyed elation at the news despite not being the first person to find out about his supposed relationship with Nathalie.

It's almost certain that Adrien will bring it up later. 

Gabriel ought to add that to the list of things they will talk about. He takes note of it, before he leaves the atelier. If he cannot even even seem to work nor sleep, the next best thing would be to get himself a cup of coffee and continue to mull over the looming conversation between him and his son, later in the day. 

He was never a  _ breakfast _ person at all but considering the fact that he is  _ still awake _ , he will have to tolerate it for now.

That is the only reason he finds himself in the kitchen of the Agreste manor, staring at the coffee maker like it was something out of a sci-fi film.

It isn’t as though he doesn’t know how to use it. On the contrary, he  _ does.  _ But with Nathalie always prepared with his favorite brew, he has never thought of using it for himself, if at all. There was no point in it, really.

Until now, of course.

It’s because of the fact that he’s deciding if he should also make a cup for Nathalie, knowing how she has to drink her morning brew before she can even start any of her work.

Well, that’s what he gathered from Adrien, at least. But the fact that he knows this does not escape his notice (and the fact that he is considering making something for Nathalie, his tired brain impishly prods).

It is promptly ignored over the fuss of making coffee.

After two brewed cups of black roast, Gabriel was now fighting with the decision of whether or not he  _ should _ bring her that cup in her room. It was inevitable for them to meet, given the fact that they worked together and the fact that Nathalie is staying in his house. 

Though, at first, he had been hoping not to see her until later but that thought is quietly disregarded in an effort to be much more apologetic of his prior actions.

Fortunately, the decision is taken away from Gabriel when he hears feet shuffling behind him. Despite knowing who it could be, he still turns around in surprise, seeing Nathalie enter the kitchen, bleary-eyed and still lethargic in her movements. 

She doesn’t even seem to notice him. 

For all put-together Nathalie is when she enters the atelier and starts the workday (which would be at nine in the morning, hours away), this present Nathalie is surprisingly  _ dead _ before then. This is the first time Gabriel has seen her in this state of unpreparedness. 

_ He wouldn’t count her moments of weakness. They were different. _

Her bed hair is a mess of tangled locks and curled, because of her bun. Her face is devoid of makeup; none of her purple eyeshadow nor her bright red lips, customary of her day to day look. Her robe is only loosely tied and beneath it, he can see that she is, at least, wearing black pajamas that he resolutely is not staring at because he knows that the GABRIEL logo is stitched on the breast pocket and that he had gifted this particular set to her some time ago.

At the same time, there is something equally amusing in watching her trudge through the room, eyes squinted behind her glasses, feeling the furniture she can barely see and probably trying to make her way towards the coffee maker. 

Gabriel coughs into his hand, hoping to get her attention. 

“Good morning, Nathalie.”

For all of two seconds, Gabriel watches in amazement as recognition lights up her features. Hearing his voice stops her in her tracks. Nathalie blinks away her lethargy, over and over, until she is looking at him directly. The clarity in her eyes and the impossibly quick alertness she dons the moment she  _ realizes _ that he’s standing in front of her nearly causes him to laugh.

It must be the sleeplessness. Everything feels enormously hilarious to him. Nathalie, especially, even when they had parted on not so good terms just a day, well,  _ hours _ ago.

“Ga-Sir! What are you—” she stutters. It’s not even in  _ fear.  _ Just that unique shock of, likely, finding out that he is awake  _ and _ in the kitchen well before anyone else. 

"Have some coffee," he offers, because there is little else he can do or say as she fumbles around, embarrassed at being caught in her sleepwear. For her sake, Gabriel looks away as Nathalie tightens the sash of her robe. It's moot, really, because underneath it is pajamas and it isn't as thought that's condemning but if it will make her feel at ease, then he will let her have a moment.

Once she is settled (he can't really say  _ decent  _ because she has been since entering), Nathalie approaches him. Gabriel sees her in his peripheral, hand hovering over the offered cup of coffee.

“I smelled the—” she loosely gestures at the tray. “I thought, maybe, Fatima came in extra early today,” she says before begrudgingly taking the cup.

Gabriel hums as he sips on his own. It tastes different from what he's used to, but that's mainly because it's usually Nathalie that brews his coffee for him. Later, when she isn't feeling as skittish, maybe he can ask her what she makes it with.

“No. It's just me.” A sip. "They won’t be coming today. I messaged them to take the day off.”

“You contacted them? On your own?” Nathalie looks somewhat astonished at the revelation. 

Gabriel bristles at her reaction. “Of course I do,” he says. "It isn't as though I'm unable to talk to my own staff." A lie. It's mostly Nathalie that handles the day to day of the manor, including  _ talking _ to and  _ interacting  _ with the people that roam its halls. 

Nathalie looks away. 

“Yes, well—” A beat passes. “Thank you, for the coffee,” she finally says, holding the cup to her lips and taking a tentative but grateful sip. 

Gabriel sees the subtle curl of her mouth, a tiny half-smile, and for that, pride blooms in his stomach. Or maybe it’s at the exhale that escapes her, or the way she holds the cup in her hands. 

He glances down and takes a sip from his own cup of coffee, marvelling at the way it had done something to warrant that reaction, regardless of its blandness.

Maybe there’s  _ some _ merit to making his own coffee (and hers) in the mornings.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu @ [telmes!](https://telmes.tumblr.com/)


End file.
